


The Gardens of Ithilien

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Back to Middle-Earth Month, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:12:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for B2MeM Challenge O67 on my 'Art Supplies' Bingo card; and B10 on my 'Occupations' and 'Talents and Skills' Bingo cards. From what I could find, pencils probably wouldn't have existed in this world so I substituted silverpoint. This is another ficlet about <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/327441"><b>Iorlas</b></a>, a scribe commissioned by the King to record the stories of the dead and missing.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Gardens of Ithilien

**Author's Note:**

> Written for B2MeM Challenge O67 on my 'Art Supplies' Bingo card; and B10 on my 'Occupations' and 'Talents and Skills' Bingo cards. From what I could find, pencils probably wouldn't have existed in this world so I substituted silverpoint. This is another ficlet about [**Iorlas**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/327441), a scribe commissioned by the King to record the stories of the dead and missing.

After so many difficult miles of travel, all Iorlas wanted was to take some rest and see his brother, to sit with him as they once did and exchange stories, share laughter and a few tears. But he did not have time for a trip to Ithilien, not when the King hoped to see some small sample of his work in the coming weeks. By then he would need to ride out for new towns and settlements, to begin again the task of recording the memories of the dead.

Despite believing in the importance of the work, despite understanding Beregond's banishment had been done out of mercy and consideration for his acts, today it was hard not to hold some resentment toward the King. Every part of Iorlas's life was now influenced by his orders and actions, his expectations and desires, and when he needed his family the most they were denied him. There was no outlet for this unspoken bitterness, no one to help him unburden some of the mounting pressure.

As he laid out his tools and ink, he felt the tension and anger building inside him, the full weight of the separation from his family and the arduousness of his work, and realized he was in no state to begin. Even the archives, a place he normally loved, the documents and old manuscripts usually a soothing balm, could not ease his mind. He stood up from his desk, his jaw tense, his fists unconsciously clenched, and closed his book more forcefully than he intended.

"When I was a child, that would have raised a cloud of dust."

Iorlas quickly turned toward the voice. "Lord Faramir." He could barely form the words, his surprise and embarrassment at having been seen giving in to a fit of pique choking his throat.

"It's good to see you and the other archivists have taken such care to restore this place to its former glory," Faramir continued, walking toward Iorlas. "I barely recognize it."

Iorlas swallowed hard. "There were more pressing concerns, my lord, than a room full of books."

"And yet it was in these pages that the truth of the Ring became clear to Mithrandir, and he was able to set in motion events that would lead to our salvation." When Iorlas did not respond, Faramir smiled, stepped closer and opened the book. "I bring greetings from your brother."

"How did you know I would be in Minas Tirith?"

"I did not; finding you here was fortuitous indeed." He stopped paging through the book and returned his full attention to Iorlas. "Beregond is well. He and his family have settled in to their new home and from what I can see they appear happy. You should know he is a great leader with the love and respect of his men; I would not have anyone else as my Captain. He wanted me to express his enormous pride in what you are doing for Gondor. I imagine it is a daunting and difficult task."

"There are days when it is quite challenging, yes." Iorlas kept his words brief, afraid if he spoke more he might become overcome with emotion.

"I dare say. Which is why I must apologize for the request I'm about to make. I know you were not scheduled to travel through Ithilien for many months, quite likely it would be more than a year before you'd find yourself there. But word of your project has reached many of our people and some are worried they may not have the chance to share their memories before they leave this earth. If you and Lord Elessar are amenable, I would like to ask that your plans be altered, that you come to Ithilien now and perhaps that another scribe be assigned to cover the lands you would have traveled."

Iorlas's mind raced, almost unable to fully hear what the Prince was saying to him. Could this be a favor he was granting Beregond, a way for him to more often see his brother? Or was this a kind way of letting him know the King was displeased with his work, deciding to reassign him and let someone else take over the project? "I don't know what to say."

"I can see your uncertainty, and I am sorry if I've caused you any additional stress. Let me assure you everyone is pleased with the work you are doing, which is why I suspect it will not be easy to convince Aragorn to let me borrow you for a time. I shall have to appeal to his basic sense of fairness, that the people of Ithilien deserve your services while their memories are still fresh, just as others have enjoyed it. As for why another scribe should not be sent instead, well, I think he'll understand, better than most."

"I'm ashamed to admit," Iorlas whispered, his head bowed, "at times I've grown angry thinking of my brother's punishment."

"Believe me, I understand," Faramir replied. "I am so pleased to have him with me it is easy for me to forget the circumstances surrounding his post."

Iorlas looked up and met Faramir's gaze, and for the first time in days felt himself begin to relax a little under the empathy and kindness he could see in his eyes. "Where I travel next is of no real concern to me, but I would be lying if I didn't say having a chance to visit my family would be most welcome."

"Aye, and very likely give you a much needed break. I have long argued this was too large a task for one man. A noble and compassionate commission, but time-consuming and stressful and, if I may be so bold, perhaps better suited as a shared burden. My proposal would have you remaining in charge of the final archive but that at least one other be assigned to work with you, and, if you're amenable, that you base yourself in Ithilien, at least for a time, and begin documenting the stories of those who are returning to reclaim their lands."

"Amenable is close to understatement, my Lord."

"Good," Faramir exclaimed, clapping Iorlas on the shoulder. "Shall we discuss logistics? I'd like to have everything in order before presenting this to the King."

 

Iorlas slowly unpacked his travel kit, including a few scrolls of parchment he took extra time to store carefully in his desk. He'd been in Emyn Arnen for a couple of months and was now returning from a round through some of South Ithlien's homesteads. He'd been amazed at how the different location had eased his spirit. Being able to see his brother was a great part of it to be sure, but the change in scenery, the view from his suite of rooms, and the special finds he had been fortunate to discover during his travels all gave him peace of mind and an improved outlook on the work ahead of him. He owed Lord Faramir much thanks.

He began to read through the messages from Malvegil that had been delivered while he was away. Malvegil was another reason for his lighter spirits. He worked as carefully as Iorlas, covering the same distances in the same amount of time, and Iorlas had heard only good things about the accounts he was documenting. A sample of his work would be arriving within the next week, and Iorlas made a note in his diary to ensure he'd set aside enough time to review it. There was also a report of which villages Malvegil had visited and Iorlas carefully marked these on the map. Together they were making good progress; King Elessar would be pleased.

He thought about reviewing Malvegil's schedule, maybe writing a missive outlining where he'd like him to go once his current commitments were complete, but his mind kept wandering to the scrolls he'd brought back with him. He put his reports aside and removed the first one from the drawer, slowly unrolling it onto his desk and weighing the corners down so he could examine it closely. Despite the existing damage, he had not seen finer sketches in many years: the subtlety of the tones, the elegant and precise lines. Each scroll was a silverpoint drawing of lush gardens that had once graced South Ithlien, the remnants of some he had seen during his travels. The artist had been killed in the early days of Gondor's strife, long before the siege and the bloody battle on the Pelennor. She was a young woman, betrothed to a farmer's son, whose passions were gardening and art. Her work was extraordinary, and he'd been blessed that the family had agreed to let him borrow some of what remained of her work. He hoped to find a way of incorporating them into the final archive, but how to duplicate them without causing further damage would take a lot of thought.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and he pulled himself away from the sketch to find Lady Éowyn outside.

"My Lady, please come in." Iorlas bowed slightly as he stood aside for her. It still amazed him how much respect they showed him, and the honest humility of the Prince and his beautiful bride. "How may I be of service?"

"I came to ask you for a favor, to see if you could find some time to speak to our kitchen maid while you're here. You see, her father was lost during one of the early battles and..." Éowyn trailed off, her attention redirected to the sketch on the desk. "What is this?"

"Isn't it remarkable? It was made by a young woman from South Ithilien who died before the siege. There are several more, all depicting a different garden that once flourished in the area. The family was gracious enough to allow me to bring a few with me. I hope to include them in the remembrance books if I can do so without damaging them."

Éowyn examined the sketch, her fingers lightly following the delicate lines and shading. "It is a fine example of silverpoint, one of the best I've seen. But the detail of the garden itself, I dare say one could reproduce it almost identically just from this drawing alone. Even I can identify several of the plants; an expert could likely name them all."

"I hadn't thought of that, but you're right. She was very precise."

"It must have taken her so much time," Éowyn said admiringly, her voice thoughtful.

The two of them stood examining the work for a few moments in silence, much as he'd done when first presented with it. He thought about different methods of reproduction, all of which would likely mar the original in some way, which were not in the greatest of shape to begin with. Then Éowyn's words became more focused in his mind, and he nearly shouted out loud as an idea started to take shape.

"M'Lady, you came here to ask a favor, which I would be more than happy to oblige. But your visit has also proved quite inspiring for me. If you have a moment, may I tell you my thoughts on how to honor this artist?"

"Yes, please do."

"As you said, a horticulturist could easily identify what is depicted in these sketches. And I've seen what remains of a few of them during my trip. It seems to me it would be a fitting tribute to try and recreate the gardens she drew, not just in the South but across Ithilien. We could make note of them in the archive with perhaps one of the original sketches beside the document of her story. But," he paused, suddenly self-conscious and unsure; who was he to be asking the Lady of Ithilien to help him take on such a task as this? "This is presumptuous of me as this isn't something I could ever do."

Éowyn smiled and laid a hand gently on his arm. "But I know the people who can. And I think it's a wonderful idea."

 

It had been the longest he'd spent at Minas Tirith since moving to Ithilien, and Iorlas could not deny how much he had missed the archive. There was nothing quite like it anywhere else in the kingdom, nowhere else that both relaxed him and stimulated his mind. He and Malvegil had used it as a base of operations to finish the first book of memories. They still had many more villages to visit and people to talk to, but having already collected so many stories it made sense to pull them together into a cohesive unit before continuing to gather information for a second volume.

The only thing he'd been slightly unhappy with was not including anything on the young artist from South Ithilien and her amazing sketches. Éowyn had enlisted the help of Legolas and Adrahuin, the caretaker of the Royal grounds, to begin bringing the gardens in the drawings to life, but more than one season was needed for them to reach their full glory and Iorlas didn't want to include her story if the full tribute was still only half-formed. And yet it seemed wrong to make her family wait, to keep her on hold until they were ready to produce the next book. As he rode back to Ithilien, an idea began to form, one that would make the project even bigger but in the end become not only a way to honor the artist but also the renewed splendor of all of Ithilien.

He presented his idea the following day during a meeting to discuss the project and was pleasantly surprised at the enthusiastic response. Iorlas immediately sent a message to the woman's family letting them know of the new plans so they'd understand the delay in seeing her work and her story published. Adrahuin began giving out new assignments to the artists already commissioned to draw the finished gardens, and Legolas started fleshing out his notes documenting the horticultural and agronomic restoration work in Ithilien, and even some of the more "domestic" forestry projects. Iorlas had never felt so inspired as he took everyone's contributions and turned them into a beautiful narrative. It made the heaviness that could overwhelm him from documenting the lives of the dead that much easier to bear.

Another cycle of seasons and they had amassed a great body of work, and Iorlas dedicated time to doing nothing but putting the entire book together. It turned out to be a two-volume set, although in many ways it would always be a work in progress, something he hoped would be passed down to future scribes and restorationists of the realm as they continued to return the land to the verdant jewel it once was. The Gardens of Ithilien was a living monument, one that gave Iorlas great pleasure. He was proud of his work memorializing those who had been lost - he and Malvegil would soon be starting on a third volume - but the book that began from an artist's delicate touch and sensitive eye would always hold a special place, its significance a tribute to the past and a gift to the future.


End file.
